Long Time Coming
by hansprinsessa
Summary: Eric owes Pam an apology. Tumblr prompt fill, Paric and "Stop trying to cheer me up" and Paric "Are you flirting with me?" One-shot.


**The answer to several requested prompts on Tumblr, Paric + "Stop trying to cheer me up", (which was requested no less than three times, lol) and since I also received Paric + "Are you flirting with me?", and I ended up using both. Was supposed to be a drabble, and grew into a one-shot since I don't know when to shut up. Enjoy :)**

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><p>Pam doesn't even glance up from the paperwork she's been slaving over when she hears the door open, rolling her eyes when she hears Eric's deep voice speak through the small crack between the door and the door frame.<p>

"There you are."

"Go away," she growls, her fingers never pausing as they fly over the keys of the calculator.

"It's _my_ office," he replies with a smile audible in his voice, the hinges of the door creaking as he opens it wide enough to step through. "You can't lock me out of my own office."

Her eyes move to the door which was obviously left unlocked, before back to where her hand is briskly writing the night's totals across the ledger on the desk. "No, but I can _freeze_ you out."

He chuckles as she shuts the door behind him. "Won't work," he chirps, and she raises a brow in challenge even though she still refuses to look up at him, "You know I love you more when you're cold and heartless."

"You need some new material," she replies in a bored tone.

He laughs softly again, and although she continues about her work, she can see him creeping closer out of the corner of her eye.

She's so busy pretending to be engrossed in her bookkeeping that she actually jumps when a shiny new Mastercard is plopped on the middle of her books. She stops briefly to look at it, seeing that her name is emblazoned on the front, before she shrugs in indifference, using one manicured finger to push it back across the desk to him. "I have my own, thank you."

"But doesn't it feel better when it's _my_ money you're spending?" he asks.

She finally throws down her pen, leaning back in his desk chair. She crosses her arms across her chest, her expression thoroughly unamused.

He merely smiles as he lowers his tall frame to sit on the edge of the desk, staring down at her for a moment before he speaks again.

"You are so beautiful."

She arches an eyebrow in response. "I'm aware. I get that a lot."

He smirks as he stands again, still staring down at her as she tilts her head back, holding his eyes accusingly.

"_So _beautiful," he goes on as if she didn't speak. "And brilliant. And charming. And _terrifying_ ."

Her eyes widen, before they narrow. "Are...are you flirting with me?"

"Yep," he answers decisively, reaching for the hem of his dark t-shirt.

"Now _that's_ terrifying," she replies, her eyes dropping, unable to keep herself from watching as he pulls his shirt over his head.

"What the fuck are you doing?" she asks, sounding almost alarmed, forcing her gaze away from his chiseled chest to his eyes once more.

"Stripping," he answers innocently, and her brows shoot up nearly into her hairline as he reaches for the button of his jeans.

"Stop trying to cheer me up," she growls, forcing herself to look away, _anywhere_ but at him.

"Is it working?" he asks, letting his accent seep more into his voice than usual, something he _knows_ she's always been a sucker for.

"Nope," she grumbles, pursing her lips.

"It always has," he replies as he unbuttons them, although a moment later he sighs, dropping his hands away from the fly of his jeans. Her eyes roll up to stare at the ceiling, wishing he would just go away, trying to ignore his rustling around as he crosses the room, digging in the bottom of one of the filing cabinets.

Seconds later, she hears something being dropped onto the desk in front of her, and only then does she lower her gaze, her eyes growing wide as she finds a shoebox before her, her favorite designer's logo emblazoned on the lid.

Her eyes slowly move up to his, to find him looking rather proud of himself.

"Eric," she breathes, reaching out cautiously, lifting the lid enough to peek inside, before she slams the box shut again, looking up to gape at him. "You _didn't_."

"You said they were your favorite," he answers softly, reaching out to tuck a stray curl behind her ear affectionately.

"They were," she whispers, still unable to believe her eyes. "That seems so long ago now…I can't believe you remembered…" She falls silent as she looks back down at the box, before her eyes suddenly narrow, snapping up to him as she rises from her seat.

"What?" he asks with his most innocent voice, looking almost boyish with his wide eyes as he slowly sits back down on the edge of the desk.

"How long have you been sitting on these, Eric?" she growls accusingly.

He shrugs, a rare sheepish expression crossing his face, knowing he's been caught. "A few years," he answers non-committedly.

"A few _years_?" she practically shrieks, throwing her hands up.

"I ordered them the night after you ruined your last pair," he admits, his eyes lowering to the floor in front of him, "And then they came, and I was _going _to surprise you. But then I figured that one day, I'd fuck up, and I'd need them."

"You _have_ fucked up," she answers shortly.

"I know," he replies softly, finally glancing up to meet her eyes. "And I'm sorry, Pamela."

She holds his eyes for a moment that seems to stretch on and on, before her gaze returns to the shoebox. "You really bought them the next day?"

"I did," he answers, matching her quiet tone, "You were upset."

She wets her lips, silently urging her traitorous hands to stay put, but before she can stop herself she's reaching out, plucking the lid from the box, revealing the gorgeous pink heels within.

She reverently removes them, cradling them in her hands as if they're made of gold.

"It's been a long time coming," she whispers, partly to him, partly to the shoes.

"So has my apology," he replies, and her eyes move to his, surprised.

She finds she can't argue with that, and so she merely smiles, before she drops back in his chair, kicking off her shoes before placing the pumps to her newly bare feet, carefully fastening the small buckles, not caring that the petal pink leather doesn't match the garish black and red leather outfit she wore to work for the evening.

She stands, and they both admire them together, although she can plainly see that his gaze soon abandons her feet in lieu of traveling up her slender legs. She takes a step towards him, and then another, before she stops close enough that the tips of her new pumps are touching the toes of his black boots.

"I'm still pissed at you," she whispers softly.

"I know," he answers with a small smile, "You almost always are."

She can't help but smile in return as she reaches up, wrapping her arms around his neck, her fingers threading into the hair at his nape to pull his lips down to hers. He growls the moment their lips touch, his hands settling on her slim waist over the leather of her corset, pulling her flush against him as their lips move together gently; gratitude on her part, and an apology on his.

"Do you forgive me, prinsessa?" he whispers against her lips, his hand rising to touch her cheek, and she pulls away enough to meet his eyes, studying them for a moment before she answers him truthfully.

"I always do, Eric," she replies with a small smile, her hands falling from his neck to trail down his chest, beginning to finish what he started a few moments before once they reach the waistband of his jeans, "I always do."

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><p><strong>AN: Did y'all need fluff? I need fluff. Fluffy fluff to offset doom and gloom. *glares at True Blood* Thanks for reading :)**


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